


Mad World

by SLq



Category: Hannibal (TV), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: AU, M/M, Mutants, powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 00:44:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6832024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLq/pseuds/SLq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham has a particularly lovely mutation. Professor Charles Xavier would very much like to help him master it. The sex is a bonus.</p><p>Helping Will bend and snare Hannibal Lecter certainly promises to be a thrill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Will Graham's release from the BSHCI is as sudden as it is anticlimactic. Will had expected something of the kind for the past month. Jack had been by much too often. Alana, too, seemed guiltier and guiltier every time she saw him. Will suspects they knew he had done nothing wrong before Will himself had been well enough to figure it out.

Hannibal's visits, rare to begin with, had stopped altogether sometime in September.

Will is freed on a Tuesday morning. The guards come to his cell some hours after eggs and the usual side of happy pills that is Will's breakfast. Two men in standard issue uniform. Somber faced, quiet, they unlock Will's cell and just - step aside. Will looks at them for a long while before he even gets up from the cot. He has waited for this day, has planned carefully for what is to follow. The deal he'll have to cut with Jack will require no less than what remains of Will's soul. Will is prepared to pay in advance.

Only it is not Agent Jack Crawford that stands outside the cell.

"Who the hell are you?"

The man smiles with his entire face: A sweet curl of a red mouth, a happy lift of too-blue eyes beneath a fringe of chestnut hair. He is wearing a blue cardigan, for fuck's sake, with a collared shirt underneath. The dark corduroys and the oxfords absolutely finish the look of twenty going on fifty. And the thing is, Will is almost certain the man is not playing a part. He is comfortable in these clothes, his skin. The same way Will is in plaid and motor oil and dog hair.

"Charles Xavier," the man says and walks closer until he stands a step away from the open cell's door. The guards remain as they are, like pillars of meat propped up against the bars. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Graham." He extends his hand.

Will looks from Xavier's hand to Xavier's face. His fingers slide over the man's palm, feel his pulse and grip gently, pump once. Soft skin, unmarred. Xavier's smile melts into something gentler. His cheeks flush and his eyes dip to Will's mouth. "Please, call me Charles."

Will swallows.

"You arranged for my release," Will says, because it is not a question. The man - Charles - nods anyway. "Why?"

"Because you have done nothing wrong." The certainty in Charles' voice is so terribly gratifying. Will knows he is innocent, but hearing someone else say the words soothes something in him. It is clear that Charles believes them, too.  

"I have done plenty wrong," Will tells the man, ever contrary.

Charles shakes his head. His mouth curves into an unhappy little frown.

"Not of your own choosing."

"You seem to know a whole lot about me." Will steps closer, now at the threshold of the cell. One step more and he will be out. It is a scary prospect.

Charles does not back down. Clear blue eyes watch Will with interest and apprehension and absolutely no fear.

"Who are you?" Will asks and thinks, _What do you want from me?_

 _I wish for you to be free_ , Charles says - only he doesn't, not with his mouth, and Will _looks_ at him and Charles looks back, smiling and anxious, truly fretful now and-

"Alright," Will says.

Charles raises an eyebrow. Red lips curve upward in a boyish smile. "Just like that?"

Will thinks of a tower built from human bodies, a room of antlers, a Wendigo King. Charles pales and sways a little.

"Yeah," Will says. "Just like that."

He takes the final step.

 

* * *

 

Will collects his meager possessions and signs the necessary paperwork, and then he is walking down the front steps of the BSHCI like nothing had ever happened. Like he hadn't torn himself apart behind those stone walls, rebuilt his mind from the ground up. It is...unsettling. Will is not certain in what way, but it feels strange. Like it should matter more.

Then again, why should it? Nothing else has so far in Will's life.

"Do not worry," Charles murmurs. His hand presses briefly against Will's shoulder as they wait for a cab at the curb, a spot of calm and warmth. "You are not taking more than you are due."

"Did you make them release me?" Will asks. He is not certain that he cares either way, but he should probably know if he is technically on the run now.

Charles darts him a coy look. "Yes. But not the way you think." Will raises an eyebrow and Charles grins, then shrugs. "Money and connections open doors that may not even exist, my friend."

Will's mood curdles. He thinks of pressed suits and expensive tastes and a harpsichord holding court in a cathedral of a mind. "Yeah."

Charles' mind touches Will's briefly, a soft caress that is both apologetic and soothing. Will leans into it and finds himself almost falling into Charles' mind entirely. Both lean sharply away from each other, eyes wide.

"My apologies," Charles says. His eyes are on Will's and look more interested than apologetic.

"No, it- it's fine," Will forces out. It's more than fine. That had felt - "You can do it again." Charles blinks at him and Will tries to use his words. His cheeks are flushing and he does not know why. Or rather, he knows only too well and cannot believe his goddamn brain has decided to let Will in on this particular side of itself at this exact moment. "We can talk like that. I'm sure this is a sensitive topic."

"Oh, yes," Charles agrees readily enough. A giddy eagerness buzzes beneath his skin. It spills into Will's, startling a smile out of him after months of blank nothing interspersed with bouts of uncontrollable psychosis. Will finds it...nice. All the better for the joy it seems to bring Charles, who - despite his easy attitude and kind eyes - strikes Will as someone a bit lonely.

A cab pulls up. Charles opens the door for Will and then gives the driver the address of a posh hotel at the center of Baltimore. Will does not make a fuss about presumptions or intentions. He's got nowhere else to go presently, and has no desire whatsoever to deal with that at the moment. Tomorrow, perhaps, but for today he will happily lose himself in Charles and his words.

The drive to the hotel is long and likely unnecessarily winding. Charles spends the time chattering about genes and complimenting Will's own - _lovely, just spectacular_ \- empathy mutation. Charles Xavier is, among other things, a professor of genetics. The clothing starts to make some sense, even if the man himself does not. Will is not certain he believes a word of what he hears, but given that he is hearing it _in his_ _head_ and that Charles appears very much real and not a fevered hallucination, he really has no other choice.

Will is still about fifty percent sure that he will wake up in his cell, sweaty and disheveled, any moment now.

They stop in front of the Monaco. Charles pays the driver, tipping pretty generously. His mind whispers something about a kid in college in Will's. Will wonders how the man has not gone broke by now, with his ability and streak for kindness a mile wide. Charles flushes beside him, throwing a half-exasperated, half-flustered look his way. Right. Telepath. Which is apparently a thing now.

Will still fails to care. Perhaps that should trouble him. His lack of reaction seems to please Charles immensely, however, so he's not about to push.

Charles makes small talk as they take the elevator to the tenth floor and Charles' rooms. There are two beds inside. Will raises an eyebrow at Charles.

Charles flushes slightly. "It's always good to be prepared," he tells Will's chin.

"What if I hadn't wanted to come back with you? Would you have forced me?" Will is more interested than afraid. Truly little has the ability to bother him now.

Bright blue eyes snap to Will's, large with affront and earnest. "Never!" Charles' mind screams its own denial, so loud Will winces and presses a hand to his forehead. There is hurt in Charles over this - his talent is not well-received, even among those of his ( _our_ , Will reminds himself) kind. Will gets a flash of a tall man with severe eyes before Charles' mind goes quiet.

"I am sorry, my friend," Charles offers. The words tremble ever so slightly.

Will shakes his head. "Don't be. Fuck," he laughs, threads a hand through his hair and grips at the roots. "You just got me out of jail. I should be thanking you."

"You have every right to question me. We are strangers. Me moreso than you, I am afraid." Charles attempts to look blasé but the nervous twist of his fingers at his side betrays him. Will wonders how often Charles has had to apologize for being what he is, for knowing too much. Will should probably be horrified over it as well, what with his past and mess of a mind. Instead, he mostly feels relieved.

Will doesn't have to explain to Charles. Doesn't have to warn him about the things he's seen, the horrors he has done. Charles has likely seen them all already as he snuck peeks into Will's mind. And he had still helped Will. Is still here, offering his private space as a safe haven for Will to lick his wounds.

"That's fine," Will tells him. Charles looks at him, hesitant. His mind brushes Will's, probably to gauge the truthfulness of the sentiment. Will tugs the careful touch deeper inside. He is not afraid. Not of _this_ , certainly.

He is, however, very much inexperienced when it comes to handling mutations.

Charles gasps. Warmth spills over Will, like sunlight - bright and beautiful, all-knowing. It sends Will's heart-rate soaring, his breathing elevating, his blood pumping in his veins. Intoxicating. Some of the darkness in Will's mind melts away beneath the onslaught. When Will blinks aware, he finds himself gripping Charles by the arms, forehead pressed to the other man's. Charles is looking back. The blue of his eyes is almost swallowed by his pupils. His lips, Will notes, are plump from being bitten.

"That was beautiful," Charles whispers. His breath ghosts over Will's mouth.

"Yeah," Will murmurs back and thinks, _So are you_. Charles' cheeks flush.

This is - unprecedented, to put it mildly. Will has never been with a man. He has never even thought to _look_. Awareness of men had come to Will with his awareness of Hannibal, but even that had been so completely focused on Hannibal himself that it hardly counted.

Charles licks his lips. The red flesh glows slick and soft and the Will of here and now does not think twice before leaning in and taking it for himself.

Turns out, Charles hasn't done this before either. His mind is pretty clear on that, over stuttered _are you sure?_ and hot _oh, please, there - oh!_ Charles may have not done _this_ , but he is very much enthusiastic about sucking on Will's tongue and then pushing him back onto one of the beds and climbing into his lap. They end up grinding against each other, Will's hands on Charles' ass, Charles' in Will's hair. Charles, Will discovers, has an exceptional backside. Will squeezes his hands over the muscles there, pulls the cheeks apart and slots himself between them. Charles moans in Will's mouth and gasps in his mind and Will can _feel_ him, can feel how hard he is and how much he wants this - wants _Will_ of all people - and it doesn't take long at all. Will comes in his slacks, cock pressed tight below the heft of Charles' balls. The surge of pleasure between them has Charles keening into Will's ear and fumbling for his own zipper. Will pants wetly against Charles' neck and lets him, bows his head and watches Charles curl a hand around his pretty pink prick and stroke himself off over Will's shirt  and his own nerdy cardigan. 

"That wasn't in the plan," Charles murmurs some time later. His voice is a bit rough. Will strokes a hand over the man's sweaty curls and smiles the tiniest bit.

"Think of it as a bonus."

"Oh, I do." There is enough smarm in Charles' voice to have Will's smile turn into a grin.

"What was in the plan, then?"

Charles's body grows tense where it lays atop Will's, both of them on their backs on the bed. Will does not stop his gentle petting. He can feel Charles teetering between brushing the subject off with a joke and actually beginning a Conversation, the type that kills afterglow and possibly leads to a much less fun rolling around. Will would still prefer the truth. "Tell me," he urges quietly.

Charles says nothing for another long moment. Then he exhales and consciously relaxes against Will. The calm of him soothes Will's own rapid heartbeat.

Then the man says, "I want to help you catch Hannibal Lecter," and nothing can stop Will's heart from tumbling down his throat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

BECAUSE WE ALL NEED THIS TO HAPPEN.


	2. Chapter 2

They do not talk about it that night. Will is bone-weary, a state not at all helped by the lazy weight of satisfaction Charles had left him with. He manages no more than a quick shower before he is tumbling onto a bed face-first and forgetting the world. The last thing he feels is Charles drawing the covers over him. The rest is lost to the gentle rocking of the bed, entirely in Will's head. A boat at sea.

Will sleeps through the night and late into the next morning. His mindspace is oddly warm and bright. A gift from Charles, no doubt. Will lies on his back in a green meadow and smiles at the blue skies above. He feels safe, solid. More like himself than he had been in a long time. The pleasure of it is almost physical.

Will wakes up with Charles smiling at him, soft and flustered and partially underneath him.

"Hullo," Charles breathes.

Will blinks back, still disorientated. He is certain he had gone to bed alone last night. In the bed closer to the door, which this is not.

"Did I sleepwalk?"

Charles gives a tiny nod.

"Shit. Sorry."

"It is probably my fault. I checked in on you once or twice." Charles taps his temple. "I believe your body was seeking out the source of my presence. I might have lingered a tad longer than I should have. Your mind was very...welcoming." The spots of red on his cheeks bloom outward. The sight of it sends a spike of desire through Will and cements the fact that last night had not been a one-off born out of loneliness and misery.

Will relaxes against the pillows and regards Charles through hooded eyes. "Did you molest me in my sleep, Professor?" Charles squawks in protest and Will grins, sliding closer. He hadn't bothered to dress after his shower so it is bare skin against the soft cotton of Charles' pajamas. A proper set, with a top and pinstripes and everything. Charles' body is warm with sleep beneath the thin fabric. Comfortable. Will rests against him, content to lounge the day away like that.

Or he is, until Charles shifts and accidentally presses a soft thigh between Will's legs.

Charles bites his lip. Will's breath hitches at the sight of that full mouth parting. His hips roll gently. The skin around Charles' lips is a bit pink. _Stubble burn_ , Will thinks and drags his tongue over his teeth.

"Want help with that?" Charles murmurs, voice low and cheeks red. His eyes fall from Will's mouth to his heaving chest and lower, to the curve of Will's dick against his leg.

Will's breath rattles out of his throat. "What do you have in mind?"

Charles smiles sweetly and very carefully rolls them over. Will is left prone on the bed, staring at a rogue curl at the crown of Charles' head as the man trails soft, open kisses down his chest. His hips thrust up on their own volition, pressing the head of his cock to Charles' chest. Will moans. Charles echoes him, the sound a soft flutter against Will's stomach.

"Shit - you don't have to," Will pants. His fingers clench in the sheets on either side of his body, mostly so they do not force Charles _to_. Charles laughs softly and strokes his mind and Will grins at the ceiling. Right. "You still don't _have_ to."

Charles props his head on Will's right hipbone and smiles with his eyes. "Oh, but I _want_ to," he murmurs. He leans his head ever so slightly to the left and presses a smooth, soft cheek against the side of Will's cock. Will opens his mouth around a wet gasp. Charles smiles and urges Will's right hand let go of its fistful of blankets. Will sets trembling fingers to Charles' face. Pleasure sparks up his spine, making him arch his back. Charles moans and humps against the bed. His eyes grow unfocused, his cheek wet with a drop of precome. Will thinks about smearing it against Charles' lips.

"Yes," Charles mumbles, "that," and turns his head fully. Will watches those red, red lips part and barely breathes, barely blinks. Charles' eyes fall to half-mast, his lashes lush shadows. Will remembers this is as new to him as it is to Will, that he has never had someone in his mouth like that. He wants to ask him if he is sure again - wants to curl his hand around his neck and push him down, hold him there and fill his mouth.

Charles shudders and dips his head. His lips wrap over the head of Will's cock, gentle pressure and the softest brush of tongue.

Will groans, sharp and loud, and does his best to stay still.

Charles is hesitant in his attention. His fingers curve loosely around Will, his mouth sloppy over his cock. Will cannot remember ever having this better. He pants and twists atop the bed, hears Charles murmur praise in his mind and offer his own pleasure, take from Will's. Charles' lips tighten, his tongue grows firmer. The wet, indecent sounds of him sucking at Will fill the room and Will's ears and the world narrows, grows dim and heavy. Will rolls his hips up, just once. Charles moans around him and lets him push in deeper, cups his hand over one of Will's buttocks and urges him up. Will laughs at that, drunk on pleasure, and fucks Charles' mouth. Charles lets him. Charles _whines_ for it, slips a hand down his own body and cups his cock and oh _God_ , Will can feel that too. Charles' want melts into Will's until they are one, full and complete.

It takes but a few languorous sucks before Will is coming with a strangled shout. Charles swallows around him and fucks against the bed once, twice, and then Will is shuddering through Charles' orgasm, body clenching around nothing.  

Will comes around to Charles nuzzling at his thigh. His body feels empty, purged. Light as a dream.  

"That was lovely," Charles murmurs. His smile is utterly content. Will traces it with trembling fingers, presses the pad of his thumb to the swell of Charles' lower lip. Charles sucks it in. His teeth close around it, the barest of pressure. Will grunts and feels his dick twitch against his thigh.

 Charles presses a kiss to Will's hand and rolls away. "Mm, perhaps next time." He does not go far. His body feels warm and sated, utterly relaxed against Will's.

"Maybe I'll hold you down," Will says, chasing a ghost of a sensation. Charles goes very still beside him. Will smoothes a hand down the side of his face, apologetic. Desire sears through him at the contact, dark and potent. He raises his head to better see the man and finds him hot-cheeked and bright-eyed.

Will's face splits into a wide, toothy grin.

"Oh, _Professor_ _Xavier_."

Charles throws one arm over his eyes and blindly bats at Will with the other. "Shut- shut up! God, no wonder people think me insufferable, if I'm like this."

Will laughs at the petulant pout on Charles' face. Charles pushes at his thigh and grumbles before dissolving into maddened giggles.

 

* * *

 

They order room service. Will borrows a pair of sweats and a loose shirt from Charles, partially so he doesn't scandalize the hotel staff by wandering around in the buff but mostly so he doesn't pull Charles back to bed as soon as the room service lady leaves.

Charles throws him a heated look from across a coffee table laden with croissants and fruit and an assembly of sandwiches. He then proceeds to look vaguely horrified with himself. Will chuckles and reaches for the coffee.

"I take it this is not the norm for you, either."                                                                                             

"If it was, I doubt I would have made it out of Westchester." Charles sips at his tea, proper as you please even as his eyes twinkle devilishly over the rim. "You are quite intoxicating, Mr. Graham."

Will grins. "And you are a terrible flirt, Professor Xavier."

"Nobody appreciates me," Charles sighs dramatically.

Will's eyes darken. He thinks about _appreciating_ Charles, in detail and color and with a healthy dose of fevered moaning. The image is so clear he can almost taste Charles on his tongue.

Charles' teacup clinks most shrilly as it collides with its saucer.

"No, stop it, oh my God." Charles presses a hand over his own eyes briefly. His mouth is curled into a pleased grin, his face so pink it is glowing. He takes a deep breath before looking back at Will. "We have things to discuss, and I absolutely _cannot_ _think_ when you do that."

Will cannot either, which is probably why he is indulging himself so much. The thought is sobering. Charles straightens in his seat, unconsciously mirroring Will's sudden stiffness.

"You offered to help me," Will says, words halting. "What did you mean by that?"

Blue eyes dart between Will and the table. "I... am no longer certain."

Will frowns. "But you were." Charles nods. "What changed?"

Charles inhales deeply. Then he pulls his shoulders back and lifts his eyes to Will's, resolve like steel in his spine. "I came here for you, Will. I came to free you - from your physical prison and from your mental anguish. The first was accomplished rather easily. I was confident that we could manage the second between us. But then I met you, and I-" Charles' voice breaks briefly. Will catches a flash of something cold and hard, a dark figure with milky eyes.

"You saw him through me," Will says. Charles swallows heavily.

"Yes. I saw who he is - perhaps not as he is in reality, but certainly to you."

"And that changed things?"

Charles' eyes bore through Will, push through the walls of empty bluster and hard anger he had erected in his mind and find his soul.

"That changed _everything_ ," Charles breathes.

Will's breath leaves him in a shaky exhale.

"I do not love him," he says. Charles looks back, silent. "I do not," Will says again and tastes the lie this time. A sharp pain lances through his chest, through his heart. God, Will _hates_ Charles at this moment, hates him for making him look at this thing, this half-dead creature shivering in a corner deep within Will's mind.

"Whatever you do to him, you will do to yourself in no less amount," Charles whispers. Will hears a small, sharp, broken sound. It comes from him. Charles' eyes well up, blue growing glassy. "I am so sorry, my friend."

Will pushes away from the table. The dishes clatter. A plate tumbles off the edge, sending cantaloupe slices scattering over the carpet. Will looks at the mess of them with empty eyes before tearing across the room. Charles raises but does not chase after. He watches Will, hands clenched tight at his sides. The unhappiness emanating from him itches up Will's neck.

Will's mobile is buried beneath the shirt he had worn when they had first hauled him off. It stinks of sweat and dirt and sickness - no one had bothered to wash it. Will wonders why the hell he had even taken it back. It is an absent thought, one that distracts him from the screen of his phone going through the booting procedures and lighting on.

Twenty missed calls. Will's fingers shake as he presses the phone icon and checks the log. Thirteen from Jack, the first one ten minutes after Will's release and the last one an hour ago. Five are from Alana. The rest are from Beverly, as is the single unread text; _Are you alright?_

Will hesitates briefly, then taps a short, _I'm ok_ , and presses send. This is all he can do right now. Jack can wait. Alana can certainly fucking wait, forever preferably.

Will does not set the phone down.

"It does not have to be now," Charles says, soft and closer now. A hand covers the face of Will's phone, another curves around his waist. Will leans into the embrace, legs shaky. "You have time. I'm here. I have you." Charles presses a kiss to the side of Will's neck, another behind his ear. Will lets himself languor in the man's kindness for several more before he pulls away.

Will's eyes are steady when they meet Charles'. His grip on the phone tightens.

"I cannot wait any longer," he says.

Charles closes his eyes briefly. Then he nods and takes a step back, allowing Will his space.

"I am here," he says again.

 Will gives him a thin, shaky smile.

Then he looks down at his phone and dials.

 

* * *

 

Half a city away, a phone rings in an office of wood and shadows. A proper landline, antiquated and right at home in a space where time seems to hold no meaning. Its shrill cry tears through the artificial peace and brings all in sharp relief.

Doctor Hannibal Lecter pauses with his hand on the doorknob, coat over one arm. He turns his head. The cry comes again, then again.

Slow, steady steps echo in the empty space. The fourth whine is cut off at the stem as the Doctor raises the phone to his ear.

"Hannibal Lecter," he greets.

A soft inhale. "Hello, Doctor Lecter."

Plastic creaks in Hannibal's hand.

"Will."


End file.
